At the risk of coming out of the radio junkie closet, “natural evolution,” my ass! Canning Bob Edwards is like pissing on the pontiff’s robe. You just don’t do it.
[UPDATE: If you’d like to write a letter, NPR’s address is 635 Massachusetts Avenue N.W., Washington, D.C. 20001. Letters, by way of being physical objects, are more likely to be read than email. So get at it, folks.]
Because, beyond the usual spot, well, someone had to do it. If there are any more, please advise.
Surface Beauty (Slate, Oct. 31, 2003)
These Are a Few of My Favorite Things (Slate, Nov. 20, 2003)
Antiques Gone Wild (Slate, Dec. 10, 2003)
The $3.77 Million Wedding (Slate, Dec. 11, 2003)
Laughter in the Workplace (Slate, Dec. 19, 2003)
Global Domination (Slate, Dec. 30, 2003)
Idol Pleasures (Slate, Jan. 2, 2004)
Dysfunctional Family Values (Slate, Jan. 7, 2004)
Terminal Boredom (Slate, Jan. 13, 2004)
Going Postal (Slate, Jan. 19, 2004)
Creature Feature (Slate, Jan. 29, 2004)
Primary Colors (Slate, Feb. 4, 2004)
Mr. Nice Guy (Slate, Feb. 5, 2004)
I’m With the Bland (Slate, Feb. 9, 2004)
Little Women in the City (Slate, Feb. 23, 2004)
Fallen Star (Slate, March 2, 2004)
Insignificant Others (Slate, March 10, 2004)
Sister Act (Washington Post, March 14, 2004)
Valenti Resigns: “This is the time for me to depart as CEO. I feel that in my gut.”
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t understand the digital age. This was, after all, a man who once compared the VCR to the Boston Strangler.
Uninstalled all useless programs and needless diversions. Ruthless rigor maintains through various threads of life. Urban detritus cleared and disposed of almost but just how the hell did I get that National Review? Was I drunk? Ah, roommate’s. Returned.
Dawning conclusion: there are too many uncompleted textual snippets on my computer. Something close to four hundred generated in the last six months. This is wrong. The mark of a failure. Oh stop. Now with gigabytes to spare, this will change. A lot of these, much like these blog entries, could use editing, as the kind people here have commented. Or even completion. Further: there was a frightening number of bottlecaps collected and placed into one spot over several months. Enough to stop any man from drinking.
The book system has become managable. I have disposed of endless magazines. No fear. One can move forward without reading everything. It doesn’t have to hurt.
And now the ultimate steering of the vessel. Sure repeats won’t get me down. Sudden rise in evening socials! The play! Impetus baby thank you folks who kicked at opportune moments.
(Bueno/mal)practice works both ways.
A daring thought: should I get rid of my television? It’s never on.
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a traitor. He may be an idiot, a maroon, a 33rd degree moonbat, but he’s still a traitor. That is a man who celebrates the death of Americans (and others) and supports the people who killed them. Oh, sure, he’s nuts. But he fits right in. So what were all these people against, exactly?
500 soldiers dead?
9,000 total dead in Iraq?
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a traitor. He may be an idiot, a maroon, a 33rd degree moonbat, but he’s still a traitor. That is a man who celebrates the death of Americans (and others) and supports the people who killed them. Oh, sure, he’s nuts. But he fits right in. So what were all these people against, exactly?
Ron Brown? Vince Foster? Waco? Oklahoma City? 2,000 bombed in Yugoslavia?
That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a traitor. He may be an idiot, a maroon, a 33rd degree moonbat, but he’s still a traitor. That is a man who celebrates the death of Americans (and others) and supports the people who killed them. Oh, sure, he’s nuts. But he fits right in. So what were all these people against, exactly?
Lebanon? El Salvador? Nicaragua?
CONCLUSION: It is impossible to write about politics without sounding Manichean. That won’t stop the angry.